Our Men Should Be Like Our Tea: Strong and Sweet

     Ooooh, let’s talk about our honeys, our darlins’, our husbands. We can all agree that they are strong, and thank the good Lord they actually enjoy killing spiders and snakes.  Yes, I said it they should also be sweet.  Now this usually means he’s only sweet to his Nana, his Mama, and you, on occasion, and that’s okay.  As long as he doesn’t forget it was sweet-talking that won you over, you’ll be just fine, and he’ll live another day.

     Men are a prideful lot and can be downright prickly when that pride is stung.  Heaven forbid, I try to get my husband to build a fire any other way than “ala naturale”.  I swear it’s an affront to his masculinity if he can’t build a fire from nothing.  That’s all well and good most times, but sometimes you need a fire and you need it now.  If I dare suggest he use some modern day help, he shoots me a “Woman, this is man work!” look which means I have stepped on his macho toes.

     To better understand a man, it is necessary to know why he is so prideful.  From the beginning of time, man has been the protector and provider for a group of people whether they be his family, his clan, his tribe, or his country.  Throughout his life, a man must accomplish many things.  He must provide a life for his family and dependents.  He must prove himself to the world.  He must protect those around him whenever necessary.  In order to accomplish these things (and let‘s face it sometimes these tasks are huge), a man must think highly of himself as my grandmother would say.  He must believe that he is Superman, that he can do anything, and that no one can defeat him.  A man who does not believe these things about himself may be just as worthy as the next man, he simply doesn’t believe that he can be.

     How does this tie into our Steele Magnolias?  Simply put, a man who believes that he “knows all and can do all” is severely put to the test when dealing with a woman just as strong and “all knowing” as he.  Not all men can handle a strong woman.  Not all men are confident enough of themselves to step to the side (not behind, but to the side) and let a strong woman do her thing.

Not all men understand that a Steele Magnolia needs her space, but she also needs him. She may be strong, but she is soft.

     When my Papaw passed away, I was heartbroken. Oh, we knew it was coming, and it was time for him to rest, but I didn’t have to like it. One of the greatest men of my daily life was gone, and it hurt. For days, I had been with my family- at Papaw’s side on his last day, planning the funeral the next, visitation day, and the day of the service itself. For me, these were all things that I had to do for myself and others. I had people to hug, tears to shed, a man to honor which left me a busy, crying mess. My husband knew that I needed room to flit around during those hard days, to love on relatives and be loved back, but he also knew that I needed to borrow some strength to see it through.

      All throughout the graveside service, my husband stood right behind me- standing tall, arms crossed, at the ready, his chin resting on my head.  His stance told me he had my back come what may.  He was big and strong and giving it all to me on that day.  He also knew that if he put his arms around me during the service I would crumble.  I needed to know he was there, but too much softness would have melted my armor.  I couldn’t have got through the day.

     He knew that I needed to borrow some strength to see it through.  His standing right behind me told me just that.  Yes, men are a prideful lot who think mighty high of themselves, but then again they have had to do just this since the beginning of time in order to not only survive but to flourish.  A smart woman knows that she must let her man be a MAN and not clip his wings.  A smart man will realize a strong woman can be a the greatest gift of his life.  She is not an insult to his male self, but the best friend and helper he’ll ever find

From Whence She Came

     A Steele Magnolia knows from whence she came.  She knows who her Granny and Great-Granny were in life. She can tell you the details about here Papaw and his brothers.  If she didn’t know them in life, she’s been told stories about her people for as long as she can remember.

     It’s important to know your people.  Knowing gives you a better understanding of yourself- who you are and why you are.  The knowledge of your people, those before you and with you, is like a treasure chest.  It’s a chest full of jewels to be opened and admired.  We hold these jewels of remembrance dearly to our hearts and share them with others.

     Recently, I had the honor of finding and marking the lost grave of my great- grandmother.  Before we get into that story, let’s start with her story.  In 1937, Ludora was 32 years old living a migrant farmer’s life with her husband, Henry.  The couple had two daughters- my grandmother and her sister, Ruby.  It’s almost impossible for us to imagine their lives.  Everything they owned fit in a wagon.  They moved with the work living in “camps”.  As the name suggests, daily life held no modern conveniences- no plumbing, refrigeration, or even floors.  Ludora made her home wherever the family traveled in a tent, or shanty, dirt floors, and hauling water.

     At this point in Ludora’s life, she was pregnant with her third child.  The family was living in a camp alongside a Louisiana river.  There are a couple of versions of why she died, but the only truth known today is that Ludora, heavy with child, passed away much too young and far from home.

     Now Ludora’s people were rooted in western Arkansas.  It was as good a place as any to bury her.  Grief is not a luxury a poor man, or his children, can afford.  Ludora’s body was sent by train back to her people in Arkansas and accompanied by a distant cousin.  Her family buried her in the family cemetery.  We still don’t know if there was much of a funeral, or any at all.  From most accounts, those closest to her including her sister were living in other parts of the country and relying on the folks back home to see the burial complete.

     My grandmother grew up from the age of 11 under the care of her father, new stepmother, and her Granny Willis knowing only that her mother had been buried in Arkansas.  Later in life, she visited that family cemetery, but could never find her mother’s grave.

     Another generation came up.  My mother and her sisters had been told about Ludora, their grandmother, by their mother and aunt.  They, too, visited the cemetery and even found the funeral home who handled the burial, but the grave was not to be found.

     All of this was unknown to me as I came across a record about my great-grandmother’s burial.  When I realized how close she was to where I lived, I knew I had to go there.  As I pieced together Ludora’s story and realized how this had affected my grandmother’s life and subsequently mine, I was determined to visit her grave and honor here the only way I knew how- flowers and passing on her story.

     Armed with directions, names, and dates we set out to visit Ludora’s grave.  Nestled in the Ouachita Mountains, Hot Springs is a gem of a tourist town.  Driving around Hot Springs, we found our little country road.  Another ten miles down the back roads brought us to the prettiest, little cemetery in the middle of nowhere.  The wrought iron arch naming the cemetery was just as I’d expected.  Now Steele Magnolias seldom go adventuring alone.  This day I had my mom, one aunt, my two sons, and a cousin’s daughter with me.  I gave the younger kids a paper with Ludora’s name and dates on it telling them that it was a treasure hunt- find her tombstone to win.  We scoured every tombstone on that hot, summer afternoon, but couldn’t find Ludora.  I was surprised at how disappointed I felt.

     I kept telling myself that Ludora wasn’t actually there.  It was clear she was buried in an unmarked grave, but this was just her earthly resting place.  We knew her story.  Our children knew her story.  That’s what was important.  I couldn’t shake it.  This woman deserved better.  My grandmother, if she’d been able, would have done better for her mother.

     It took several phone calls to cemetery trustees, consulting cemetery maps, and another trip to re-walk the grounds, but we found it.  We found Ludora’s resting place.  I felt like I’d won the SuperBowl.  We all gathered around feeling victorious to have found her, sad at her untimely death, and hurt that she’d lay there for so very long unknown to the world.

     As usual when faced with tragedy, a Steele Magnolia stands a little taller, shows her ironclad will, and gets busy fixing things.  We set about the cemetery that day looking for scattered stones to mark the site.  Rocks were lined around the grave, and flowers pulled from the fence line.  A flat slab was found to serve as a makeshift tombstone.  We used markers scavenged from the van to list her name on the stone.  In all, it was a temporary mark until we could remedy the situation, but at least the world would know her precious name when they passed that way.  I sent up a heartfelt thank you to God for allowing us to find her.

     Making the hour and a half drive home that day, my emotions bounced from joyful and victorious in having found her to sadness thinking of her hard life and how it had ended.  It took a few months, but we did go back with a headstone to place at Ludora’s grave.  In giving her grave a permanent marker, we were able to pay tribute to not only Ludora, but my grandmother who had never had the chance to stand at her mother’s grave.

      A Steele Magnolia knows from whence she came.

"Well, bless his heart."

No truer words are ever spoken.

When a Steele Magnolia comes across someone down on their luck, whether in person or by word of mouth, whether man, woman, or child; you can bet her most heartfelt response will go something like this, “Oh, bless his heart.”

No matter the circumstances, all the love and compassion inside her heart is expressed in those 4 words.

Truly, those words represent a tiny prayer sent to Heaven on behalf of the poor soul she’s blessing. A literal translation might go something like this, “Father God, please take care of this poor boy. His dog got run over last night. His truck broke down this morning, and his boss fired him because he was late. Oh, Lord, help him…Bless his heart.”

What is a Steele Magnolia?

What is a Steele Magnolia?

     In her heart of hearts, she is a Southern Belle.  Now her people may have very well been pioneers settling the frontier.  They may have come over on a boat not too long ago, or they may have been sharecroppers and known nothing but hot, hungry, and miserable all their days.  Be that as it may, a Steele Magnolia starts as a Southern Belle- a young girl who is proud of her heritage, minds her manners, and puts her best face forward no matter what.

     Now you take this Southern Belle and put her through generations of war, poverty, hard work, and heartbreak.  What you get is a Steele Magnolia.  You see, we women carry through- our momma’s strength and love, our granny’s devotion and tenacity.  All these are passed down.  For generations, the fire keeps burning and melding us into amazing women of beauty, perseverance, and love.

     A Steele Magnolia is a woman so soft and sentimental that she cherishes the simplest things in life- her garden, the sunset, her momma's time, the pictures which her children drew years ago.  She keeps these things and holds the memories in her heart.

     A Steele Magnolia is a woman with iron in her veins who will straighten you out in a minute then hug you when it’s over.  She loves from the depths of her soul.  She pours out all that she is for those in her life.

    She is a force to be reckoned with, a sight to behold, and a treasure to be cherished.

Dog Days of Summer

What's a body to do when it's 100 degrees outside with humidity to match?

Why lay low in the laundry room, of course!



Happy Birthday, America!

235 years old today!   and many more!
  I know many people think about our troops (past and present) on the "4th of July", and they're due.  Many people think about our country and what makes it so great.  Many even take time to "count their blessings", but I wonder...Do enough of us really think about what this day means?
Do we think about "Independence Day" and what took place on July 4, 1776?
Fifty-six men with everything to lose put it all on the line.  These men made a pledge to one another.  They pledged their lives, their wealth, and their  honor to one another for the cause.  These men were creating treason against their king and country to forge a new country for "themselves and their posterity". 
If you've never read the Declaration of Independence, or if it's been a long time, read through it again.  Here's a link to view the document.  http://www.archives.gov/exhibits/charters/declaration_transcript.html
Personally, it takes my breath away- the poetry, the insight, the courage- that this document holds. 
May we always remember how and why this country was founded. 
May we stay true to it's principles.
and May we live lives of honor; the ultimate tribute to the United States of America
.          

Summer Freedom!

Ahhhh, summertime!  For many adults, the change in season means a little less daily stress.  Parents get a welcomed-break from packing lunches, shuttling kids to school and weekly events, not to mention a break from the demands of school life in general.  Families get a chance to let loose and hang out.  Vacations get taken.  New games get learned and played to pieces. Let's face it.  Memories are made of days like these.
Yes, most parents do look forward to summer break, but others of us anticipate the break much more.  I'm talking about the teachers.  Being a homeschool mom, I do enjoy the huge break that my daily routine takes with summer.  For our family,  the season offers a whole new kind of learning from fun projects to plenty of time to read and visit with friends and family. 
For myself (and other adults off in the summer), I take the chance to relax a bit more.  I admit it I get to hold on to a bit of childhood.  After all, someone has to keep the summer rolling and the kids entertained.  Swimming, fishing, biking, fun projects, keeping up with buddies...as a Mom who is home for the summer, I get to enjoy these things with my kids.  We all get to sleep in a bit, or get up super early to catch some great event.  The freedom is there in the summer.
Read an entire book in one day.  Spend the afternoon playing cards with the kids, or maybe spending the afternoon cleaning up after all the kids at your house for the day.  It's okay.  You've got time.
I wish I could bottle the relaxed atmosphere of summer.  Keep it on a shelf and sprinkle it throughout those hectic "school days".  Do we have to stay so keyed up for nine months out of the year?  I wonder if we could accomplish all that needs done in a year if we "toned it down a bit".  The idea has merit.  When the winter doldrums hit or the hectic fall schedule has you pulling out your hair; take a deep breath, sip a glass of lemonade, and sit down to a game of cards with the kids.  I'd bet we'd feel re-energized after just a taste of summer!